Fever
by EightofSwords
Summary: A short vignette from Darien’s point of view when the shadow appears in his lungs in SuperS.


Disclaimer: Naoko Takeuchi owns Sailor Moon, not me.

A/N: This takes place during SuperS in the manga, when Darien's sick but doesn't want Bunny to see.

Fever

A fire burns behind my eyes, consuming everything in flame. Coughs wrack my chest, throwing my bones every which way; I feel them rattle as I writhe in my smothering sheets. I tear the blankets off, swiping a trembling hand across my soaking forehead. It is night but it is hot.

My mouth tastes salty, and warm saliva spring to my tongue. I slap a hand up to my lips; I know exactly what is coming. I retch and hack, a lump of death appears in my hand, stringing black tendrils through my fingers and down my wrist.

I can't let her see.

I stagger to the balcony. I have to throw my whole weight against the glass door to force it open. I step outside, goose bumps racing across my flesh as my feet touch the cool cement.

The sound of the stars twinkling in the sky is deafening. My ears ring, my eyes burn, my flesh puckers, my nose stings, and my tongue feels too large for my mouth. I gag; another lump of black blood appears in my cupped palm.

My eyes swing down as another sensation brushes my senses: there, bouncing across the street, is a pair of golden odangoes.

Her.

I lurch back inside, forgetting to close the glass doors in my panicked, drunken haste, and slither back into bed. I pull the sweat-dampened sheets up to my shoulders and force my head down to my pillow, trying to still my racing heart and twisting stomach and throbbing eyelids.

The knock.

"Darien?"

A pause. I burrow down further into my blankets, clenching my eyes shut. She _has_ to think that I'm sleeping.

"Darien, are you there?"

I have to will myself silent, not to respond to her soft voice and cry out for comfort.

A key scrapes in the lock, the one I gave her. I hold my breath. I had known she would come in; curse that caring soul of hers!

The slides open, whispering across the carpet. I hear footfalls padding inside, quiet as a panther. Then the crinkles of a shopping bad being placed on the kitchen counter.

I shiver; suddenly the sheets are like ice around me, and the wind gusting in through the open glass doors is cold as Mercury's Shabon Spray across my face. I shudder uncontrollably. Would she notice?

"Darien?"

Her voice is softer this time, no louder than a murmur. I feel her entering my room quietly carefully, and try to quell my shivers.

Something scrapes; I flinch. Then I realize that the icy wind has stopped; she has shut the doors to the balcony, cutting off the bone-sapping cold. I silently cry out my thanks.

"Oh. You're sleeping."

Through the blanket, I feel the almost nonexistent weight of her feathery hair on my shoulder. Warm fingers brush my hair, lightly drape across my forehead. I nearly smile; she is trying so hard not to wake me up.

She sucks in a sharp inhalation of air. "Darien, your fever…it's rising…" I feel her move away and mourn the loss of warmth, dissolving into shivers once more.

But she returns less than a moment later, pressing cool wet cloth against my face. I feel the fire behind my eyes dim, doused slightly. Oh, if only she knew how much I could wrap my arms around her and thank her…but I can't let her see this. I can't let her see _me_ like this. She can't know that I am in no condition to protect her.

And what if she gets sick from me?

My muscles tighten at the thought, horrible images of my sweet Odango racking with coughs, hacking up black blood. The pictures cinch the deal. I've got to make her leave. I can't risk letting her suffer like this.

I twist away from her soothing touch, acting as though it is a sleeping motion so that she won't know that I'm awake. The pain flares back up again, in full force.

In the midst of the pain, I feel something warm and wet splash onto my head, trickling down to my scalp, then hear a sniffle. Odango is crying. My arms twitch; I have to force them not to reach for her.

"Oh, Darien…" Her voice is blurry with tears. "How can I help you?"

Silence reigns in the room for a long, long time, interrupted only by occasional sniffles.

Then, finally, she leaves, brushing a hand across my face one last time. I lie in the stifling cocoon of blankets for an equally long time after she leaves. As long as I sit still, frozen in the position she left me in, the spasms seem unable to touch me. I welcome the respite from the bone-wrenching fits, using the time to daydream about my Odango, and what we could be doing if I wasn't curled up here like some malingerer. The sensation of her small hand against my face has yet to fade, like the lingering aftereffects of some dream.

Eventually, I begin to lose consciousness, sleep seeping into my eyes and dousing the fires behind them – for a time. The pain will return, I know, but for now, I sleep, basking in the delirium of my fever.

Because tomorrow – tomorrow, when she comes, I'll tell her…to stay away.

I can't let her be consumed by this fever.

A/N: Please please please please please review!


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